Never Alone: A Medium's Journey

By Debbie Malone

Debbie Maloneis an acclaimed spirit medium who has assisted police departments across Australia in missing-persons and murder investigations for the last sixteen years. Her extraordinary gifts—she is a psychic and clairvoyant as well as a medium—enable her to receive visions from both the living and the dead, from the past, present and future, and to convey messages to bereaved families from their departed loved ones. This book takes readers on the roller-coaster ride of Debbie's journey, from receiving confirmation of her capacities after a miscarriage at the age of twenty-eight to working with the police on high-profile cases. As Debbie learns that her uncanny abilities to see beyond the here and now cannot simply be switched off or ignored, no matter how inconvenient or distressing they may be, she draws strength from using the world of spirit to help both others and herself, and from knowing that we are never alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Apr 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781925429619

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Childhood

Encounters

with Spirit

My life has been unusual and often very challenging, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I feel that I am a truly blessed and privileged human being to have been allowed to see and feel the experiences I will share with you in this book. Through my gift of mediumship, I have met many wonderful people, both living and in the realm of spirit.

I was born in Sydney, Australia, in September 1963 to my loving parents, Robin and Leonie Gee. My only sibling is my darling brother, Michael, who arrived in 1968. Our parents have always been very hard-working people and have done all they can to provide a positive life for us. Both Michael and I were christened Catholic and had an open and not overly religious upbringing.

When I was three, my family moved into our newly built home in the suburb of Lalor Park, in the west of Sydney. There, my health took a turn for the worse. I suffered bronchial pneumonia and was admitted to hospital. My family had to travel the long distance into the city to visit me in the Royal Alexandra Hospital for Children at Camperdown. It was during my time there that I believe I had my first encounter with the spirit world.

I remember waking up in the ward coughing uncontrollably one night and seeing all of the other sick children lying in their beds. I felt so alone and frightened, and all I wanted was to be back at home with my parents, tucked snugly in my bed. It seemed as if I lay there in the bed coughing for an eternity. I waited for a nurse to come, but none came. Then a beautiful lady dressed in white suddenly appeared before me, comforting me and assuring me that I would be safe. Perhaps this vision was a dream or just wishful thinking, but at the time I felt so calm and surrounded by love that I settled down and went back to sleep. This vision has stuck with me for all of my life and I would like to think that the lady was one of my guardian angels.

After spending three or four weeks in hospital, I was allowed to go home. I can’t tell you how happy I was to be back in my parents’ arms. From that time on, my mum wanted to wrap me up in cotton wool so I wouldn’t get sick again.

At the age of five, I started at the local infants school, and unfortunately this was the beginning of a very harrowing time for me. From almost my first day there, a group of girls bullied me on the way home. I became terrified of going to school and I told my parents how frightened I was of this gang of girls. My parents simply said that I should stand up for myself and hit them back. This was an even more frightening option, as there was one of me and five of them. And anyway, I have never agreed with using violence against violence. (Back in those days, parents didn’t intervene in school bullying like they thankfully do now.)

The bullying followed me right through to primary school and affected my health and confidence greatly. I became a very timid and nervous child, a loner. I preferred to be by myself as I felt that I would never fit in with any of the groups of kids at school.

I have always been very artistic, so I spent a lot of my spare time painting and drawing at home. On weekends, our family would often go to my paternal grandparents’ place in Bankstown and I would spend hours with my gorgeous grandfather, a great man in my eyes who was in the navy during the Second World War. My memories of my grandfather are always of joy. My poppa was a very artistic man and he was able to paint or draw on anything he could get his hands on. When we would go to visit, he would surprise me with a new work of art painted on a leaf, piece of bark or canvas.

It was Poppa who gave me my appreciation of art. He would spend many hours sitting with me, telling me stories about his life and teaching me how to draw and paint; he was also very gifted with calligraphy and taught me how to do hand lettering. My memories are of him always being surrounded by big, blue clouds of smoke but at the time I never thought much about the damage his heavy smoking was doing to him.

My nanna was also a very gifted woman. She would sit patiently, teaching me how to embroider, knit and crochet. Each visit to their house was an adventure, as I never knew what I would learn next. Now, as an adult, I realise what a blessing these two loving people were in my life and I miss them dearly.

It was at their house that I was introduced to the idea that fairies exist. On the wall above her bed, Nanna had a special Chinese hat that her brother had given her after the Second World War, and she said that behind the hat was where the fairies lived. I felt in awe of the fact that the fairies were always at her house when we went to visit and not at my own home. This was another very enticing reason to go to visit Nanna and Poppa as often as possible, to see what the fairies had been up to between each visit.

My father’s side of the family were tested with a lot of illness and during my childhood I seemed to suffer the same fate. I constantly had bronchitis and never-ending stomach problems. The poor doctor didn’t know what to do with me; he diagnosed me with nervous dyspepsia but couldn’t offer anything to help improve my condition. I look back now on this period of my life only to realise that the gang of bullies who caused my anxiety had actually hurt me in more ways than one.

Due to my nervousness, I suffered many fears, the biggest one being of the dark. I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep at night unless my mum left the light on in the bathroom, which was next to my bedroom. Mum humoured me enough to keep the light on until I fell asleep each night.

Another fear was of all of the strange things I could see and hear in my bedroom. Each night, I would complain to my mum that there was something or someone in my room. I could hear footsteps and creaking; I could hear snippets of conversation and at times it sounded like some unknown person was talking to me. A blue-white glow would materialise, sometimes taking the form of a person walking around the room. Other times, the glow took the form of a ball of light flying around above my head.

When it all became too much for me, I would call in my mum and make her check whether there was anyone else in the room besides me. As soon as she got to the door, everything would suddenly stop.

My constant complaining about what was going on when I went to bed began to drive my poor parents crazy. Mum told me that I had an overactive imagination and asked me to stop going on about nothing. I knew better: I knew that there definitely was someone or something making nightly visits.

Thankfully, Mum gave me her old radio and suggested that I listen to it to help me get to sleep at night. I discovered that if I focused on what the radio was playing, whoever or whatever was coming to visit me wasn’t able to get through any more. I was so relieved to be able to finally get some sleep and leave the family in peace.

There were still times when I would see the blue-white glow moving around but I would quickly slide down under the covers and pretend it wasn’t there. Even to this day, the glow still comes to visit me. It doesn’t communicate with me. I feel that it is a spirit who wants to make his or her presence known to me. It doesn’t frighten me any more; I accept it as part of my life.

When I was finishing year five, our family received the devastating news that Poppa, my very special mentor when it came to the artistic side of my life, had been diagnosed with throat-and-lung cancer from smoking. At the age of eleven, I didn’t realise the consequences of cancer; it would be some time before I understood what an impact it would have on my family. After the initial shock of Poppa’s diagnosis, I just accepted that he had to make frequent trips to hospital. Over the next three years, he would be in and out of hospital more often than I care to remember for tests, many operations and chemotherapy. This was a traumatic time for all of the family; we were very close to my grandparents and it was a shock to everyone that Poppa had cancer.

*

By the time I reached year six at school, I finally felt stronger and more confident than I had in the previous years. I still had the bullies in my class but I didn’t let them get to me like I had done before. I had decided that if I learnt to focus my energy into studying and doing well at school, then at least I could feel happy that I had been successful in one area of my life. In addition to this, I put my efforts into doing things that others could benefit from. I established an anti-litter campaign at the school and introduced an aluminium-recycling program, which was an excellent fund-raiser. The extra activities I undertook at school were very uplifting, and in my last year I was finally enjoying primary school.

My life was going really well until I was struck down by illness once again, after a weekend outing with my family to Oktoberfest. Multiculturalism didn’t really exist in Australia then like it does now, so it was exciting to try different types of German food. Unfortunately for me, somebody serving the food was suffering from hepatitis A. The rest of my family all ate at Oktoberfest but I was the only one who got sick. As hepatitis A is so highly contagious, I wasn’t allowed to finish my final months of year six. I finished the rest of the school year by doing my schoolwork and exams at home when I was well enough. Luckily, my grades were good enough to allow me into high school even though I had missed the last three months of school.

Beginning at a new school presented me with the exciting prospect of meeting new friends and doing new things. My endeavours to do well at primary school had paid off, as I was placed in higher-graded classes than the bullies, so I didn’t cross paths with them very often any more. They no longer played a part in my life and I no longer had to listen to their taunts. I felt relieved that I could finally feel at peace and enjoy going to school. I met a new group of friends, who were all great fun to be with. Jayne, Chantal and Alison were all very adventurous girls, and I was a bit of a tomboy.

The western suburbs of Sydney can be a very hot place in the summer months. My entire life, I have been drawn to the water and, though my parents couldn’t understand the attraction of the beach, they were understanding enough to let me spend most summer weekends there with my girlfriends.

We would all meet at the local train station at about 6 am, after a half-hour walk to get there with either surfboards or boogie boards under our arms. Then it was a two-and-a-half to three-hour trek, changing trains at Redfern station to continue on to Cronulla Beach. We would arrive hot and sweaty and just dying to swim in the cool, blue ocean. The summer days were very memorable and we had a great deal of fun.

As the end of year seven approached, I began to get sick again. After my bout of hepatitis A, I constantly suffered stomach cramps and needed to be careful with what I ate. My mother was always taking me to doctors, but they just couldn’t put their finger on the problem. It wasn’t until one particularly bad attack of stomach cramps that it was discovered that I had a grumbling appendix.

The doctor arranged for me to go to hospital the following day to have my appendix out, because he feared that it might burst. I was quite excited to be going into hospital, as it felt like a kind of adventure. Little did I know how the upcoming events would begin to alter my future.

On the morning of the operation, the nurse came in to give me a needle to calm me down before the surgery, and this is the last thing I remember until after the operation. It was late afternoon when a nurse woke me up. I didn’t know how I could possibly have been excited beforehand because all I could feel now was the pain in my side. After taking my blood pressure, the nurse then told me that I needed to go back to sleep – I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t just left me asleep in the first place.

As I slowly dozed off, I began experiencing the strangest dream-like vision. I felt my body lifting off the bed and flying very quickly towards the ceiling. It felt like I was floating on the surface of a swimming pool. Looking down, I could see my body still lying in the hospital bed. I desperately tried to get myself back into my body, but it was as if I was a cork floating in water, and I constantly kept popping back up to the ceiling of my hospital room.

The nurse came back into the room to recheck my blood pressure. A worried look came across her face and she quickly rang the buzzer. Another nurse entered and, after speaking with the first nurse, left the room and returned with a trolley containing an oxygen bottle.

I suddenly woke up safely back in my bed when an oxygen mask was placed over my face. The first nurse was looking straight at me with a panicked expression. I couldn’t work out what all of the commotion was about – I thought I was just having a vivid dream.

The following morning, the doctor told me that even though the operation had gone well, something had gone wrong during the night and my heart had stopped. The doctor ran tests, which all came back normal; he couldn’t explain what had happened.

After this experience, I felt very peaceful, although a nagging voice in the back of my head started telling me to read about near-death experiences (NDEs). At this point, I barely knew what an NDE was, let alone had the courage to admit that I may very well have had one of my own.

I decided to visit the library as soon as I recovered from my operation. Much to my surprise, the school library contained exactly the book I needed: Life After Life, by Raymond A. Moody. It described what an NDE was and detailed other people’s experiences. From the moment I opened the book, I couldn’t read it quickly enough.

When I finished, I was positive that I had actually had my own NDE. Friends at school asked me why I had been away from school and I told them about the operation – but when I told them I thought I’ d had a near-death experience they thought I was strange. I didn’t feel that I could tell my parents, either, as I’ d already felt quite stupid trying to discuss it with my friends. I began to withdraw into my own little world, like I had done in primary school. I had experienced one of the most amazing things in my life and yet I didn’t have anyone I could verbalise it to.

Chapter 2

My Very Own

Guardian Angel

My first NDE was a life-changing event. I felt that it was a good time to question why I was here. I began to wonder more and more about the Bible and whether there really was life after death. I certainly believed that something else was out there.

When I was younger, I attended the local Catholic church every Sunday, and I also made my First Holy Communion and then my Confirmation. None of these experiences made me feel any closer to God. In fact, they made me feel more alienated from Him, because of the way the people at church seemed to look down upon each other. For instance, there were certain areas where certain families of the congregation would sit, depending on whether their children went to the local Catholic school that was attached to the church. Those of us who were not part of the school were relegated to the back few pews, if we were lucky enough to find a seat. Goodness forbid if you thought that you should sit closer to the priest and the altar than the other members of the church, as the looks and stares that came from those at the front were enough to make you drop dead on the spot. I wondered: if God loved us all so much, then why didn’t he let everyone be treated in the same way? So, after a number of years of not feeling any more enlightened by going to church, I decided to stay at home and talk to Him in private.

I also joined a local youth fellowship run by the Uniting Church. We would meet every Friday night for Bible study and then an outing. It would vary from going to the movies, roller skating or putt-putt golf, to meeting up for a barbecue.

I made many new friends and had a great time each week. I couldn’t wait for Friday night to come, as my new group of friends were very welcoming and they helped me to feel that I belonged.

All was going well, until one night when the minister who ran the fellowship gave me a lift home. When he stopped the car and I was about to get out, he suddenly made an advance towards me. I quickly pushed him away and jumped out of the car.

I ran inside and spoke to my parents about the incident; they were upset about his behaviour and suggested that the best thing was for me not to go to fellowship any more.

This experience was very upsetting and it was a disappointment for me that a religious person – a minister – would behave in such an improper and unreligious way. To make matters worse, he lived in the next street to me with his lovely wife and five young children. His wife was quite oblivious to the type of man he was and I didn’t want to cause any problems by telling her about what had happened. I knew the minister’s children well, as I had gone to school with them through infants and primary.

I stopped going to youth fellowship, but I did tell one of the youth leaders about my experience. He admitted that another young girl had unfortunately had a similar unpleasant experience with this minister. I heard no more about him until his house was put up for sale and he left the parish. After that, I didn’t hear of him again.

I returned to the youth fellowship and became close friends with one of the boys, Luis, who would pick me up each week. Luis – or Lou, as he preferred to be called – was a gentle and caring boy. On the weekend of our local fair, Lou and I decided to go and watch the fireworks display with my family.

Lou had two siblings, Mary and Jimmy. Their father was quite controlling of the children, and Mary, who was seventeen, wasn’t allowed out very often unless she was chaperoned by her father or Lou. On the afternoon of the fair, Mary joined Lou and my family. When we got to the fair, we went on some rides and then got seats in readiness for the fireworks display. Mary told us that she wanted to meet up with some friends and that she would join us later to see the fireworks. Unbeknown to us, she had used the excuse of coming with us just so she’ d be able to slip away and meet these friends.

When the fireworks display began and Mary still hadn’t returned, Lou became worried and went off to look for her. He came back quite distressed, telling me that his father had followed us to the fair and had caught Mary with her friends, smoking a cigarette. He had forced her to return home with him. Lou said he needed to follow them home urgently, as he was concerned about what his father might do to her.

When Lou got back, their father was holding a gun to his sister’s head while he forced her to smoke a whole box of cigars. He said he wanted to teach her a lesson so that she would never smoke again.

Mary was traumatised and seriously feared for her safety; she decided that it was better to leave home and move in with some friends than to stay at home with her father. Within a week, Mary had moved out and was trying to live a normal life.

A few weeks passed, and Mary’s father, unhappy that she no longer lived under his roof, rang her and said that he wanted to speak with her. He promised to drive her to work after they finished their meeting.

Mary never made it to work, as a violent argument broke out and her father lost control. He produced a knife and stabbed her many times in an unprovoked, frenzied attack, for which he was later jailed.

On the morning of the attack, I was getting ready for school when a newsflash came across the radio saying that a young woman had been stabbed to death by a man in the Blacktown area. Shortly after, I received a phone call from Lou, who was in a very distraught state. When he told me what his father had done, I was in total shock. I had never had anybody close to me die before, let alone a friend near my age, murdered by her own father.

The weeks that followed are still a blur. I suffered severe headaches and couldn’t cope with the shock. I tried to comfort Lou for the loss of his sister but I was only fourteen years old. I had to grow up a lot quicker than I would have liked.

During this period, Lou changed immensely. The gentle boy I once knew had gone and I became quite wary of him. Understandably, the things that Lou had been through would be imprinted on his mind forever. I felt that, with his sister’s death, the friend I once had had also died within. I found it more and more difficult to keep up our friendship and felt it was better that we go our separate ways. Lou didn’t take this decision very well and he began to contact me constantly.

My severe headaches would last for days. I just wanted this horrible nightmare to end and I wanted to resume the life that I had prior to the murder of Mary.

*

Things settled back down to normal and the new school year had just begun when Poppa’s cancer took its final turn. I remember going to visit him in a hospital ward that had nine other men in it, and as the weeks went by the other men in the room would go missing one by one.

I asked Poppa if these gentlemen had gone home and, with sadness, he replied that they had all died. Suddenly, the realisation came to me that, more than likely, Poppa wasn’t coming back home and he would die in hospital like the others.

Watching someone die is such a hard thing to do; seeing a healthy person so full of life fade away to a mere shell is a traumatic experience. My poppa suffered greatly with the cancer. Towards the end, he was unable to talk, as he had been given a tracheotomy and his voice box was removed to help him breathe; he could only communicate by writing on a slate board. I much prefer to remember him sitting in his chair at home, teaching me how to draw, rather than as the sick man lying in the hospital bed.

Poppa was a very proud man and towards the end of his life he asked for the grandchildren not to visit him any more. At the time, I was heartbroken, because I loved him so dearly and felt that I must have upset him. I later realised that he saw how distraught I became when I visited him and he didn’t want to go on upsetting me.

I was fifteen when my poppa died, the first close relative I had ever lost. My parents thought it was better that I didn’t go to his funeral, as they thought I would get too upset. I actually was more devastated that I wasn’t allowed to go. I felt that I was never given the chance to say goodbye and he would think that I didn’t love him enough to go and pay my respects.

After he died, when we went to my grandparents’ place I would always feel him in his bedroom. I loved to go in and sit quietly on his bed because I could feel I was close to him. My parents didn’t question what I was doing. They always knew where to look for me – I would either be in Poppa’s favourite chair or in his room, waiting and hoping that he might talk to me and let me know that he was okay.

I started to feel his presence more and more. At night, I would lie in bed and think about him and cry. One night, I saw a beautiful blue glow float into my bedroom and come and sit on my bed. I could feel the weight on the bed as though someone was really there; the longer I stared at the presence, the more the blue glow began to take on the form and features of my poppa. I was scared yet excited at the same time. I wanted to scream with fright, yet Poppa’s presence made me feel calm and protected. The glow then mysteriously disappeared. I had a number of visits like this from Poppa but whenever he came he didn’t really say anything; he just sat there on the bed and smiled at me.

When you are a child, you never think that anyone is ever going to die; it seems that everyone lives forever. What I was now realising was that after we die, we do still exist but in a different form. His presence became more of a regular occurrence in my life and I realised I had myself a real live guardian angel. Boy, did I feel blessed!

This special gift wasn’t something I could tell my friends about. The one thing I did know was that I was never alone.

During this period in my life, I suddenly developed a small white streak in my hair beginning right at the top of the head (an area I later came to know as the crown chakra). As the years have gone on, the white streak has widened, though I colour my hair so you can’t see it, as people have called it my witch’s streak. I prefer to call it my psychic streak. At first, I didn’t understand why this was happening to me, but, on looking back on my life, I now realise that the psychic development taking place within me was changing the colour of my hair. When I do any form of psychic or medium work, the top of my head becomes extremely hot.

It was very sad to lose a wonderful, loving mentor like Poppa. I decided that I would try to not dwell on his loss but focus on doing my best at school; I felt that would make him happy.

*

My last two years of school flew by very quickly and soon it was time to start making decisions about what I wanted to do when I left.

I loved art and photography and had a strong interest in becoming a graphic designer. At the end of year ten, I left school and got an apprenticeship as a typesetter at the magazine publisher Australian Consolidated Press, where I was taught many aspects of the printing industry. I also went to trade school at technical college.

I was sixteen and I would catch the train daily to get to work. In my first year, my aim was to save up enough money to buy a car so I could get my driver’s licence and my ticket to freedom.

My father and I found a blue 1966 Ford Cortina for sale in the local paper and paid the asking price of $450. The car was old and in need of a lot of work, but I thought it was a bargain and that if my dad and I worked on it, it would soon look a lot better than it did in its current state.

My father has always been good with cars and he took great pride in restoring them. Every night after work, if I didn’t have tech homework to do, I would help my father rub back the paintwork on the car and rebuild the motor. It took us about four months and, when we were finished, the car looked like new.

I thought I was invincible in my little old car and, every now and then, I was probably a bit more adventurous than my driving skills would allow. At times like this, I suddenly felt a warm presence in the back seat and I would get the impression that my grandfather was with me. He would always give me the message that I should slow down, and sometimes he warned me that there was a police radar up ahead. (He was always right!) I believe that he would accompany me in the car to protect me from other motorists – and most of all from myself. I began to listen to his messages and I always felt protected. As I grew up, I didn’t feel his presence around me as much any more but I always felt blessed for the times he was with me.

I remember that, when I was little, the scripture teacher

Reviews for Never Alone

[Mandy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I absolutely loved this book ❤️ it was very interesting.